Marks
by UnpoeticGirl
Summary: She brushes her hand against yours and there's that electricity that you don't really know how to describe and you hope you're not the only one feeling it because that would be so dumb.


"Tell me the time," you demand in a too pushy voice. She's used to it though because she doesn't even flinch.

"Three thirty-two," she says in that adorable voice of hers that really isn't any kind of special voice that she uses only around you, it's just her voice but it's adorable so you always feel the need to acknowledge the cuteness of it.

"How much time do you have?"

"I have to be at Ginny's by four so, unless you're willing to offer me a ride, only ten minutes. It takes me at least seventeen minutes to walk to her house."

"Seventeen minutes?! She practically lives next door!"

"Yeah, but I'm lazy and I walk slowly. So, wanna keep going with this insanely unproductive conversation or do you want to get down to business?"

"A ride it is. And come here," you answer, getting up from the couch you've been lying on for the past three or so hours. Lord, time really does fly by when you're waiting for Melanie!

"Oh, dear, honey… I'm not moving," says Mel and lets a stupid smirk fall to her lips.

"That was gay," is your amazingly inspired answer. "And yes, you are," you conclude as the shirt that you'd been pushing over your head falls to the ground.

"You're lucky I get the hots for a really defined clavicle," she mutters right before crashing her lips with yours, leaving you literally gasping for air. She smiles; she loves when she does this.

Her tall frame is just tall enough that you don't really have to stand on your tips but still feel the need to push her neck down. Her right hand grabs your hip as the two of you fumble around for a comfortable position, finally settling for you against the wall with your legs entangled somehow in the midst of it all. Your dad and mom's picture hangs to the left of your face but you dismiss the all the anger you feel by the sight of it when she sighs your name into your mouth. Between your lips a muffled moan escapes as she raises her arms and tells you to stop playing with the hem of her shirt and just take it off already.

Hair that you're not sure is hers or yours lingers between your lips but she doesn't really seem to notice it when she parts hers and her tongue toys with yours like it was the first time. The memory brings a small grin to your face and she smiles too but you think that it's probably not for the same reason and then you wonder if she's the kind of person who'd smile simply because you're smiling but you mentally scold yourself for that kind of stupid thought because it's obviously not reality but then she moans against your skin and all your thoughts instantly evaporate.

"God… You're hot," she manages to say while leaving tingling-feeling kisses on the skin of your neck and you think that this is probably the right moment for you to say something flattering too but as both her hands grab your butt and she lifts your body that need to say something loses priority.

You make for her lips again and tangle your arms behind her neck and – to your own surprise – find a way of saying "couch" and you're just now aware of her nails on your back, scratching and possibly leaving marks – visible marks – and though you should probably tell her to stop it because of Madame Fanny's rules, you decide against it because it feels too good. Too fucking good. She lays you down on the couch and your body's under hers and you're not really sure of why you still hadn't tried this position because it's so much more comfortable and practical and overall you just love feeling her boobs pressed against… Well, against the spot of where yours should supposedly be. And now you gasp and she chuckles kind of ironically because her hand's under your bra and though it does feel amazing this is a first and you don't know if you're just supposed to let her have her way with _it_ or if you should say something and you don't really know how long this part is supposed to last and you're just now realizing that you're terribly misinformed about the rules or social conventions for this kind of things and she must be thinking about this too not only because she's removing her hand but also because you can't really be the one thinking about it and –

"Oh God, that felt good," you say after she pushes your crotch against hers and she laughs and says, "And we still have our pants on."

And you laugh and she kisses you again and she sighs another "Sasha" into your mouth and you sort of hate how much you love it because that might mean that you're getting too emotionally invested and, well, this is Mel and that just can't be. Then you glance at the clock and see that's it's like twenty-seconds to four and yell "Shit!" and after she asks a "What?" in that voice of hers and you're taken aback by how melting that sounds, you tell her the time and are presented with a "Shit!".

"Toss me the shirt!" she shouts as she gets up and runs to the bathroom to fix her hair. She comes back seconds later with the same yes-I-was-just-making-out-with-someone-but-no-I-am-not-telling-you-who looking hair that she's going to show up with at Ginny's. And you laugh at the craziness of the situation and take a few more nanoseconds to admire her chest as she puts on the shirt and then you're both out the door and getting into your car and you don't really know how but somehow you've managed to drive to your blond friend's house without really noticing and she's halfway out the door when she comes back in and brushes her hand against yours and there's that electricity that you don't really know how to describe and you hope you're not the only one feeling it because that would be so dumb and you try to remember any other time she's done that and you can't recall any but then you wonder if that's not just your mind playing tricks on you.

"Monday?" she asks and you nod and when she's already standing on the white-house porch she yells "Thanks," and you smile and wave her off.

Then you drive home and smile at the mark her grip left on your hip.

* * *

Status: hating that last line.

Anyway, sorry this isn't anything really fancy, I just thought I could use something like this. Hope you enjoyed it, though. Review it if you feel like it.


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